


five times natasha remembered the world, and one time the world remembered her

by andibeth82



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Acts of Kindness, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Grief/Mourning, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha deserved the world's respect and I'm here to give her the acknowledgement she deserves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 13:04:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18851629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andibeth82/pseuds/andibeth82
Summary: Natasha knows she’s put herself in a bubble and she knows she’s only seen the fringes of Thanos’ destruction from the reports and the news articles; she knows she’s been on the outside looking in. Seeing the rest of the world suffering so openly makes her realize how selfish she’s been by barricading herself in a safe space.And that makes her angry. Angry that Thanos has stolen so much from so many innocent people, angry that she’s been sitting around feeling sorry for herself while everyone else attempted to work through their circumstances, angry that she’d thought there was nothing she could do to help aside from shooting at blank targets over and over again.No more.





	five times natasha remembered the world, and one time the world remembered her

**Author's Note:**

> The Russos mentioned [in an interview](https://slate.com/culture/2019/05/avengers-endgame-ending-twists-directors-interview.html) that there was a draft of the film where instead of running SHIELD, Natasha was helping at a center for orphaned kids from the snap. Naturally, my brain couldn't stop thinking of what else Natasha might have done for the world that we didn't see in those five years -- and how she might've changed the world for the better without even realizing it.

They come home together, but alone.

It’s not worth anyone’s time to try to boost morale or pretend otherwise -- they’d lost, and not only had they lost, they’d lost badly. Whereas Natasha had originally felt hopelessness but slight optimism in the weeks after Thanos’ snap, she now only felt devastation and pessimism. The stones were gone, and there was no way to bring them back. There was no way reverse what had happened to the rest of the world.

There was nothing she could do to bring anyone back.

It’s a slow burn as they spread themselves out. Thor hangs around long enough to step off the ship upon returning to Earth but when he disappears, angrily taking off after snapping at Rocket, no one tries to stop him. Carol hesitantly asks if there’s anything that can be done but when she returns to space, Rocket and Nebula aren’t far behind. Natasha doesn’t blame them; their lives are rooted in space and there isn’t much to do on Earth now except mourn.

Rhodey takes off after a week, citing he needs some time alone. Bruce leaves a week later, saying he needs to figure some things out. When Tony’s sedatives wear off, Pepper announces she’s bringing him to her childhood home so that they can heal. Steve says he’s staying, at least for now, but Natasha rarely sees him because he leaves the compound early and stays out until late at night.

She knows Clint is alive, and she knows his family isn’t. After they’d returned from Wakanda, Natasha had snuck into the common room in the middle of the night and fired up Bruce’s scans. Clint wasn’t notified as missing -- Laura, Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel were. But Clint wasn’t answering any of his phones or secret communication lines, and Natasha knew enough to know that he was grieving. As much as she wanted her best friend by her side, she knew she needed to give him time to level out.

And so Natasha is left alone.

 

***

 

It’s refreshing to feel like she has a purpose, even if her friends look like they’ve seen better days -- the punching bag is soft, the boxing gloves are torn and ripped, and the target boards are riddled with bullet holes. Natasha gives herself a routine -- an alarm to wake her up and a short breakfast that’s timed so she doesn’t sit around and start moping, followed by a full day of training and working out. She stops to eat and sleep, then gets up and does it all over again.

She doesn’t feel particularly satisfied.

She knows part of it is because of who she is -- a spy trained to find answers even in the most secretive of places, an assassin trained to finish the job no matter how close she came to death or how far she had to travel or how many people she had to hurt. When she had come to SHIELD after the Red Room, that part of her hadn’t ever left. Instead, it had strengthened, because for the first time she had a purpose. She had an allegiance. She had people to protect and report to. Finishing the job became more than just a part of her -- it became her MO, and she’d handled it all. She’d handled aliens falling from the sky, and SHIELD threats, and psychotic robots, and shady government officials trying to blackmail her. And until Thanos -- until six months ago -- she’d never come across a problem she couldn’t solve, or a problem she couldn’t find the answer to.

So she fights. She fights against herself, against invisible monsters. She fights for the people who aren’t here and the ones she can’t bring home, and she fights because Thanos may be gone but if she’s not able to protect the people who are left, then why didn’t _she_ get snapped away?

“You know,” Steve says when he comes to see her while she’s eating breakfast, “I know how it feels to lose.”

“Do you?” Natasha asks, crossing her arms. Her legs are up on the table and she’s not feeling particularly hungry for the eggs she’s haphazardly cooked, something she knows Steve is going to judge her for even though she doesn’t really care.

“I do.” Steve sits down across from her. “But I’ll tell you what doesn’t help -- sitting around like this.”

“I don’t need a pep talk and I’m not sitting around,” Natasha snaps. “I’m going to go work out after I finish breakfast.”

“After you _start_ it, you mean?” Steve eyes her untouched eggs. “Natasha, I’ve known you a long time. I know your coping mechanisms.”

“So what would you have me do?” Natasha asks, suddenly feeling defeated. She’s tired, she’s lost, and she doesn’t want to pretend anymore. What she _does_ want is for Steve to stop looking at her like she’s some pitiful child who needs to be coddled and pushed into action.

“What do you _want_ to do?”

Natasha shakes her head. “Something more than this,” she mutters, gesturing to her plate of food. Steve hums under his breath.

“At the risk of sounding insensitive, half the world disappeared. And we’re the ones who are left. We can grieve, we can sit around, we can get angry. _Or_ we can do something to help.” He finds her eyes and smiles sadly. “I know you’re hurting, but the world is your oyster, Natasha. Maybe that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

 

* * *

 

**I: ONE YEAR LATER**

 

Eventually, Steve left too.

He still came around every now and again but he moved into a small apartment, telling Natasha that he needed the space. Natasha had wanted to tell him there was _plenty of space_ in a building that no one wanted to stay at but she understood, the same way she understood Clint not contacting her because he needed to work out his anger.

A few weeks after Steve’s official departure, she’d found herself wandering into the library and sifting through papers that have been left scattered around the room, untouched since Bruce and Rhodey abandoned them. Some of the stuff was boring -- gamma experiments, old reports that she’d read a thousand times over when she’d combed through SHIELD’s files back in the day -- but there is one thing that catches her eye. She plucks the piece of paper from underneath a blue folder, studying it curiously, then fires up the communications portal.

“Ms. Romanoff.” Okoye doesn’t appear on the holographic screen, but her voice projects loud and clear throughout the room. “It is good to hear from you.”

For a moment, Natasha is caught off guard by Okoye’s genuine greeting. She swallows down a lump her throat, thankful that she can’t be seen.

“You too. I hope you’re doing okay.”

“I am doing as well as can be expected. Is there a reason you are calling? We have not spoken for months.”

“Actually yes,” Natasha answers, ignoring the stabbing pain of Okoye’s words. She glances down at the paper in front of her. “The Wakandan Outreach Program.”

“Yes,” Okoye responds, sounding surprised. “What do you want to know about it?”

“Everything,” Natasha says, leaning back in her chair. “What’s the background?”

Okoye hesitates. “King T’Challa bought the building and other buildings in the Oakland area with the idea of designating a science-oriented facility that would allow Wakanda to share its knowledge and technology with the rest of the world -- particularly with those who were of a younger age. He appointed Shuri as the head of science and information exchange and Nakia as the head of social outreach.”

Natasha nods, her mind flashing to the _missing_ titles underneath both of their names. “Is it still active?”

“Natasha, both Nakia and Shuri disappeared when Thanos snapped his fingers,” Okoye says, sounding frustrated. “Whether or not the program is still active, I do not know. But I am assuming no one has been running it.”

“Okay,” Natasha says, letting the wheels turn in her head. “Can you send me the current address so that I can get in touch with someone if it _is_ active?”

Four days later, Natasha is on a quinjet to Oakland, stepping off the plane into a desolate area that showcases the remains of Thanos’ destruction. It’s eerily silent; basketballs and bikes are scattered, forgotten and lost among abandoned lots and overgrown trees crowd the sidewalks while graffiti decorates most of the neighboring structures. Natasha approaches the building, knocking in case she might be intruding. When no one answers, she pushes in the slightly broken door, entering the facility.

She can instantly tell that what was once a pristine and exciting space has been neglected in the wake of the world’s tragedy. Dust covers most of the equipment that even Natasha can tell is probably more advanced than anything Tony would make; the floors are dirty and everything smells like mold.

“Hello?”

Natasha waits for a response, surprised when she actually receives one -- a small _hello_ coming from what sounds like the furthest corner of the building. She keeps walking, weaving in and out of hallways, until she comes across a group of girls huddled in a corner. They look like they’ve all seen better days but, Natasha notes, they don’t look like they’re sick or starving.

“Hi,” she says carefully, entering their space and crouching down. “Sorry for intruding like this. I didn’t know if anyone was here.”

“We’re here,” says the girl who had previously spoken up. She shakes her long blonde hair out of her eyes. “We’ve been here ever since the _thing_ happened.”

Natasha looks around the room, taking everything in. “Were you working here?”

“We were working here when everyone disappeared,” a small African-American girl volunteers. “We didn’t know where to go or where we would be safe. We have a supply of food so we’ve just been staying here and living here. Most of our families are probably gone.”

Natasha’s heart aches, waves of guilt washing over her. She knows she’s put herself in a bubble and she knows she’s only seen the fringes of Thanos’ destruction from the reports and the news articles; she knows she’s been on the outside looking in. Seeing the rest of the world suffering so openly makes her realize how selfish she’s been by barricading herself in a safe space.

Natasha tries to imagine the girls the way they were when they came here -- excited, intrigued, bursting with joy and curiosity -- and her hurt turns to frustration. These kids hadn’t been snapped away like T’Challa or Shuri, but they had lost just the same and they might as well be floating in a void of non-existence, alone and untethered, dreams and hopes and lives snatched away without any warning.

And that makes Natasha _angry_. Angry that Thanos has stolen so much from so many innocent people, angry that she’s been sitting around feeling sorry for herself while everyone else attempted to work through their circumstances, angry that she’d thought there was nothing she could do to help aside from shooting at blank targets over and over again.

_No more._

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay here for awhile,” Natasha offers. “I’d like to help you get back on track with what you were learning.”

The blonde looks at Natasha warily, and Natasha knows she’s probably taking in what she’s accepted as her depression clothing -- her messy hair, her hoodie, her yoga pants. She hadn’t bothered to make herself look any more presentable than she would if she was sitting in bed, and she knows she doesn’t look anything like someone who has their shit together.

“Who are you?”

Natasha smiles, extending her hand. “I’m Natasha Romanoff, but you might know me as the Black Widow. As of right now, I’m the new head of this program. And I might not have a background in Wakandan technology, but trust me, you’re going to learn a lot.”

 

* * *

 

**II: TWO YEARS LATER**

 

Her next lead comes from Rhodey, when he calls to ask for a favor.

“Would you mind finding me some information? I’d do it myself but I don’t have the resources.”

“Well, lucky for you, I have resources _and_ all the time in the world,” Natasha replies, because she’s just gotten back from Oakland earlier in the week. Rhodey smiles on the other end of the hologram.

“Those kids in California really owe it to you, Nat.”

Natasha shrugs, avoiding Rhodey’s gaze. “They just needed a push. I probably don’t even need to be there anymore -- they’re running their own experiments now. What do you need?”

Rhodey clears his throat. “I’m heading up a report on some crimes in D.C. Seems like most of it is simple looting, but I want to make sure there’s not more to it. I’m looking for anything suspicious in the past few weeks around the areas of Farragut West and Dupont.”

Natasha studies a few files she’s pulled up easily and swipes, looking up with a small smile. “Headed your way now. You should have what you need shortly.”

“Thanks,” Rhodey answers, checking a device on his wrist. “By the way, any word from Clint?”

Natasha bites down on her lip, trying to figure out how to answer. “No,” she says finally. “Not really. He’s been off the grid.”

“Huh.” Rhodey makes a surprised noise in his throat. “Well, I’m always around if you need someone to help you look.”

“I appreciate it,” Natasha says, channeling her voice into a happy tenor. When Rhodey hangs up and she’s alone again, she lets her guard fall, staring back down at the papers she’d been looking at. Her eyes burn with tears as she gazes at reports of a new vigilante, a masked man who uses a sword and has been taking numerous drug cartels and gang members by surprise. She shakes herself out of her emotions by trying to focus on what Rhodey had asked her about, figuring she might as well follow up on it. Simple lootings weren’t really supposed to warrant any kind of attention, but then again, everything seemed like it was a big deal these days.

Opening the holographic map and the scans for activity in the areas Rhodey’s mentioned, she’s surprised to find that the most identifiable victims are aged anywhere from thirteen to twenty-four. Why she’s surprised that kids are running around stealing and causing a ruckus is news to her, considering the state of the world. But Natasha instantly feels sick, worried and frustrated that no one has stepped in to figure out how to help. Rhodey was flying around taking care of threats, but he wasn’t supposed to be responsible for young teens breaking the law to survive. He was supposed to be looking at the bigger picture.

Natasha does a quick analysis and pulls up her files of the missing, making a note of which lawmakers and government officials are still alive. Then she gets on the phone, calling each one until she gets an answer.

“Hi,” she says when she finally gets someone to pick up. “My name is Natasha Romanoff. I’d like to make a donation.”

“A donation?” The man on the other end of the line sounds confused.

“Yes,” Natasha answers. “A donation that should allow you to provide food and clothing to the homeless and hungry. I know you’ve been having some looting problems in the city of D.C..”

“Miss Romanoff.” There’s a long pause. “I appreciate your well-intentioned offer, but you must be well aware that there are no available funds that might offset the amount of provisions we’d need to sustain the city right now. Everyone is still struggling in the wake of the snap.”

“I understand,” Natasha answers. “In that case, I’d like to set up a recurring donation of five thousand dollars for every six months. And I’d appreciate if you would keep the donation anonymous.”

“Miss Romanoff,” the man on the other end repeats. “I don’t -- we can’t --”

“Yes, you can, and I think you need it,” Natasha answers, opening her laptop. She logs into the emergency fund that Fury had turned over to her when they’d gone rogue after the Accords and hits a few buttons, typing some complicated lines of code. “As I mentioned, please make sure the money is going towards homeless people who may be in need of food or clothing. I have your contact information and I’ll be sending you a wire transfer that you’ll be able to deposit, along with a verification of the funds and account.”

For a long moment, there’s silence on the other end of the line. “Miss Romanoff,” the man starts, and Natasha braces herself for more conversation.

“Yes?”

When the man speaks again, his voice is soft. “Thank you.”

Natasha smiles and hangs up, watching as the progress bar on the computer turns from red to green, signaling acceptance and success.

 

* * *

 

**III: THREE YEARS LATER**

 

Carol checks in more than anyone else, except maybe Steve, and Natasha is surprised because they really don’t know each other that well.

“I spent a lot of time alone,” Carol says when she shows up on Natasha’s screen for the fifth time in a month and a half. “I know how it feels. I figured you might need a friend.”

“Or a drinking buddy,” Natasha answers, toasting Carol’s flask with a glass of wine. “How’s space?”

“Space is space,” Carol answers with a shrug. “Three years, two planets down...a hell of a lot to go.” She nods towards Natasha’s hair, which has started to grow long, faded traces of her blonde dye job streaking down her scalp. “Nice look.”

“Nice cut,” Natasha shoots back. Carol raises her eyebrows, a light smirk falling over her face.

“So, how are you keeping busy these days?”

Natasha shrugs. “Honestly? I’m just finding places to help out where I can.”

“Well good,” Carol replies. “Because there’s something that I think you’d be well suited for, if you’re looking for something to do.”

“This better not be you setting me up on a date,” Natasha grumbles, taking another sip of wine. “I’m not exactly girlfriend material right now.”

Carol makes a face. “I wish it was. As you know, I keep tabs on Earth stuff, just to make sure we’ve got no threats on our end.”

“So what came up?” Natasha asks curiously, reaching for a handful of chips that are sitting next to her.

“Well, nothing world-ending,” Carol says slowly. “But there’s been an alarming spike in suicide rates, and I’m concerned.”

Natasha closes her eyes. “Do we know why?”

“Why?” Carol’s voice turns sad. “It’s been three years, Natasha. Don’t you think there gets to be a point where people just run out of hope?”

 _I don’t know anymore_ , she thinks, her mind flashing to Clint. She’d recently tracked him to Prague and had tried to contact him, but it was clear he was ignoring her. It’s the longest amount of time she’s gone without talking to him or even seeing him.

Natasha opens her eyes and squares her shoulders. “So what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” Carol admits. “I was hoping maybe you could find some trauma centers and talk to people. It might help them to see you, to talk to you...you mean something to them.”

Natasha swallows hard. “I _used_ to mean something to them,” she says quietly. “I haven’t been myself for three years.”

Carol lets her gaze fall towards the ground. “I know you feel trapped. I understand how it is. But if you feel like getting out of the house, there’s a trauma center set up close to the compound. I’ll check in again soon.”

Natasha nods, trying to smile. “Good to see you, Captain.”

Carol salutes, disappearing from the screen, and Natasha blows out a breath as she falls back on the couch.

Half an hour later, she’s put on shoes, semi-combed her hair, and is on her way to the trauma center.

She’s not sure what she expects to see when she walks into the high school gym serving as the designated meeting space, but she’s surprised to find the room almost empty, save for a few women sitting in circles. She hesitates, wondering if she should make an entrance, and then finds herself walking towards a girl who is curled into a small ball.

“Hi,” she says quietly, bending down. “What’s your name?”

“Paige,” the woman answers dully, not looking up.

“Hi Paige,” Natasha says, sitting down on the floor. “I’m Natasha Romanoff.”

At her words, Paige raises her tear-stained eyes. “You’re the Black Widow?”

Natasha’s breath catches in her throat at the acknowledgement, and she forces herself to nod. “Yeah,” she says after a moment. “I guess I am. Are you okay?”

Paige suddenly seems embarrassed, ducking away. “I was feeling sad...it was silly.”

Natasha reaches for her hand and squeezes it. “Nothing is silly,” she replies. “Thanos snapped half the world away. That would be cause for anyone to be sad.”

Paige shakes her head. “But I was a terrible person before the snap,” she says tearfully. “I treated my husband so badly. I wasn’t there for my children. I went out and partied and pretended I had no responsibilities...I was partying the night everyone disappeared. Maybe if I had been a better person, they would’ve stayed alive. Maybe that’s why they’re not coming back.”

Natasha listens to her talk, trying not to let her own emotions overwhelm her. “You can’t blame yourself for your past,” she says softly. “I know it feels like it’s your fault. But none of it is. What happened to the world...what happened to everyone...it could’ve happened to you or me. It wasn’t a way to weed out the good and the bad. If it was...I’d be snapped, too.”

“But…” Paige looks up, her teary eyes turning confused. “You’re a hero.”

Natasha gives a small smile. “I may be a hero, but I wasn’t always a good person. And I have a laundry list of bad decisions I’ve made in my past, and I’ve also hurt people. But sometimes it helps knowing you’re not alone, even if you _feel_ alone.”

Paige nods slowly, and Natasha notices she doesn’t let go of her hand.

 

* * *

 

**IV: FOUR YEARS LATER**

 

She finds herself in D.C. on account of a donor update but when she arrives, she’s greeted by a well-suited man she’s never seen before.

“Miss Romanoff,” he says as he leads her into an office. “Please come in. We’d like to talk to you.”

Natasha blinks away her surprise, sitting down and adjusting herself at the table. “What do you need?”

The man sits down across from her. “As you’re probably aware, the snap has left one-quarter of children in the world orphaned. It’s a horrible statistic, and we’ve been trying to manage it as best we can for the past few years. But we admit we’re out of our league.”

“In resources?” Natasha asks, suddenly a little more interested. The man nods.

“Resources, and also a general lack of oversight.” He slides a folder across the table. “We’re thinking of starting an organization that might serve as a safe place for these children -- a place that will provide them with food and shelter, where they’ll have someone watching over them. But we simply don’t have the expertise to put that together ourselves.”

“So what are you asking?” Natasha eyes him warily. “Do we even _have_ an organization in place?”

The man nods. “We do, but it needs improvement. And it needs oversight. Given your work over the past few years, we think you may be the best person to help us.”

Natasha tries and fails to keep a peel of laughter from escaping. “I apologize,” she says when she composes herself. “I haven’t done much.”

“Well, you seem to have done quite a lot based on what we’ve heard,” the man answers. “We’d like to formally extend you the offer of heading up the world’s organization for orphans, headquartered here in D.C. But it’s a decision that’s ultimately up to you.”

Natasha bites down on her bottom lip, her mind swirling with disparate thoughts. She had been an orphan once. She had been alone on the streets with no family, no job, and no allegiance. And then Clint showed up, pulled out his bow, and instead of shooting her, he put his arrow in the ground and offered her somewhere to go -- a chance for her to accept help, if she wanted it. 

“Can I please think about it?”

She gets up at his nod and walks out the door, finding herself in a hallway with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook what at one time must have been a small outdoor garden. It’s well past being any kind of garden now; there are no greens to speak of and no sign of flowers, though someone has placed what looks like a paper flower among the dirt and weeds, assumedly to help lighten the mood.

Part of her has no idea why anyone thinks she’d be good at running anything. It was so easy to pretend when she had to be in the moment, but no one knew the real Natasha Romanoff -- the one who was a mess, the one who barely ate one meal a day, the one who hardly brushed her hair, the one who lived in sweatpants and sometimes cried over things that reminded her of the person she’d lost years before, the person she’s not sure she’s ever going to get back because she waited too long.

 _Because you waited too long_ Natasha’s brain reminds her, before shifting to all the children who have been left alone in the world. She has no idea what they’ve been through over the past four years or what kinds of horrors and traumas they’ve endured; she’d known about Clint’s violent streaks since the first day she met him but she’d never thought he’d fall so far that he’d be a shell of himself, a killing machine who couldn’t even consider contacting the one person he loved. Deep down, Natasha knows it doesn’t matter that his darkness was always a part of him -- what mattered was that she had the chance to reach out four years ago, and in her grief, she hadn’t. And now she was scared to try to bring him home.

_Because you waited too long._

She knows the children who have lost their parents have already waited too long.

She knows who she would be if Clint waited too long. If Clint never came. If she never found a home outside of the streets.

Natasha wipes stray tears from her eyes, turning around and marching back into the room before she can change her mind.

“I’ll lead the organization,” she announces. “On one condition.”

The man nods, looking relieved. “Anything, Miss Romanoff.”

Natasha takes a deep breath. “I want to run the whole thing. I want it to be _my_ organization -- I don’t care about the credit, but I want to be there for those kids and interact with them personally and work with them and take care of them. I don’t want to be in the background just running the show. Is that something you can promise me?”

She meets his eyes, willing herself to stay confident through the silence. Eventually, the man smiles, extending his hand.

“I think we can certainly work that out.”

 

* * *

 

**V: FIVE YEARS LATER**

 

“You know,” Steve says when he drops by to visit, “the world’s been improving a little.”

“Define a little,” Natasha says, spreading peanut butter on her sandwich and cracking her neck. Steve leans against the counter and folds his arms over his broad chest.

“Well, crime’s down thanks to some sizeable donations coming in from an anonymous individual who keeps wiring money to the District of Columbia. Suicide rate seems down too -- there were less deaths this year than last year. Kids who were orphaned by Thanos have somewhere to go and they’re being taken care of thanks to a new organization. And apparently the Wakandan Outreach Center has some new leads on technology.”

Natasha concentrates on her sandwich. “If you’re trying to tell me that the world is a better place now, I’m going to punch you.”

“I’m not saying that,” Steve says. “I’m saying it seems like people have been taken care of, and someone’s obviously behind it.”

“It’s 2023,” Natasha answers in frustration. “Do we even _need_ humans to do things anymore? People are probably funneling money through space.”

“Yeah.” Steve doesn’t sound convinced. “It’s a nice theory, but I don’t buy that.”

Natasha shrugs, cutting her sandwich down the middle. “Then I don’t know. It’s probably some random good samaritan.”

“ _Or_ a former Avenger.” Steve pauses and she tries to ignore his eyes as she shoves her food in her mouth. “You know, with Fury gone, SHIELD could use someone running point behind the scenes. You’d be good at it.”

“There _is_ no more SHIELD,” Natasha says after swallowing her food. “There hasn’t been a SHIELD for years, as much as we keep calling it that. And there’s no more Avengers. We’re all scattered, Steve. Literally. Carol and Rocket and Nebula are in space...everyone is off doing their own thing. No one wants to be governed, and definitely not by me.”

Steve frowns. “Nat, I’m not saying this to be nice. I’m saying it because it’s true. You’ve managed to keep the world going in these small but significant ways...you may not think that you’ve done anything special, but you’ve proven that you can be a good leader. Why not use that to keep what’s left of this family together?”

 _Because I can’t even keep Clint together_ , she thinks, the last image she’d seen of him flashing through her mind -- a photo that showed a gruesome display of horribly mutilated bodies in Mexico. There had been no identifying marks but she’d know Clint’s style anywhere; she could practically see the patterns in his footsteps and in the swings of the sword he’d traded his bow for.

“I don’t know.” Natasha rubs her eyes. “It’s a lot of responsibility. And who’s going to keep me together if I fall apart? You’re barely here anymore, and Clint’s god knows where. I appreciate the sentiment, I really do. But a few good things doesn’t erase a lifetime of bad things. I’m only doing this stuff because no one else will.”

“Suit yourself,” Steve answers, waving his hand around. “If you’re looking for something to do, we could always use your help at my support group. I think they’d appreciate a friendly face.”

“I _started_ that support group, thank you very much,” Natasha reminds him, not even caring that she’s admitting to the help she’s given the world over the past five years. Steve rolls his eyes, grabbing half of her sandwich, and Natasha resists the urge to chuck the empty plate at his head as she sits down at the table.

As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, it _isn’t_ bad idea. They’d all been scattered, but it was largely because they hadn’t had a reason to interact. Aside from Rhodey, she never heard from Rocket and Nebula. Okoye barely called, and even Carol had stopped checking in regularly.

“Why do they really need me?” she asks the now-empty room, scrolling through a myriad of random files on the holographic screen; she’d been meaning to clean up some of this stuff for months. “What can I even give them?”

_“Just because it’s the path of least resistance doesn’t mean it’s the wrong path. Staying together is more important than how we stay together.”_

Natasha looks up in surprise as her own voice replies to her, emanating from an old video she’s mistakenly hit. In her grief and stress, she’d forgotten that she had used one of Tony’s voice recorders to file away conversations from her memory after Thanos had snapped his fingers, terrified that one day she might wake up snapped away too, with no legacy to leave behind other than a trail of red. Natasha blinks back tears as she leans forward, sending out a group of communication signals, and after a few long moments faces begin to appear in front of her.

Rhodey. Carol. Rocket. Nebula. Okoye. They look at each other in confusion before turning to Natasha, who is standing up with her hands on her hips.

“Nat.” Okoye inclines her head. “Did you call us all here for something?”

“Yes,” Natasha answers, keeping her voice steady, all traces of instability disappearing under the guise of someone strong, someone worthy, someone important. “Thanks for reporting in. I officially call this meeting to order.”

 

* * *

 

**ONE YEAR AFTER NATASHA'S DEATH**

 

“....yes. Yes, thank you. That would be perfect. Thank you so much.”

Pepper hangs up the phone and makes some additional notes in her journal, turning when a small hand tugs on her pants.

“Mommy, who was that?”

Pepper smiles and reaches down, pulling Morgan onto her lap. “That,” she says, running her finger across Morgan’s face, “was the person who is going to help me do something very special for daddy’s friend Natasha.”

“Like a surprise?” Morgan asks, snuggling into Pepper.

“Like a surprise,” Pepper agrees. “You like surprises, don’t you?”

“I like surprises when they’re cheeseburgers,” Morgan decides, playing with her fingers. Pepper laughs, getting up and bouncing her daughter on one hip.

“Well, why don’t I let Uncle Happy take care of you while I run some important grown-up errands and you can have cheeseburgers with him?” She winks. “Mommy’s treat.”

Morgan’s face lights up in happiness and she wiggles out of Pepper’s grasp, running out of the study and into the living room. When Pepper peeks in and sees that Happy’s already in the process of placating her daughter’s many food requests, she waves him off and gets in the car.

She’d be out late tonight, but it was worth it. The Black Widow Program was set to open at the end of the week, and the Natasha Romanoff Foundation had just reached maximum funding, assuring that the groundbreaking ceremony for the new organization would take place by the end of the month. In between all of that was paperwork, loose ends, red tape, and about a million other logistics, but Pepper doesn’t mind.

It’s the least she feels she can do.

As the world puts itself back together, people begin to whisper about Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, the one who didn’t fly a nuke into a wormhole in space or snap her fingers but the one who stepped up and saved the world when no one else would have bothered. They take solace in her after-school programs and hail her achievements in decreasing human trafficking, they bring her up to their friends, they talk about her to their returned family members, they _remember_ her -- the young scientists, the homeless children, the trauma victims, the orphans, the Avengers. They remember her kind smile, her generous advice, her optimistic laugh, and her bright mind. In the years after there are homemade tributes; there are lessons and stories and tales and no matter how they start, they all end the same way:

She was a protector.

She was loyal.

She was giving.

She was selfless.

She was our hero.

**Author's Note:**

> So I realize this slightly changes what Endgame implied, which is that Natasha had been running SHIELD for the five years following the snap. But I thought it was important to explore -- and acknowledge -- ways in which Natasha's influence and selflessness could have spread to other areas of the world during the time jump.
> 
> Pepper starting the Natasha Romanov Foundation and other memorials comes from [this tumblr post.](https://isjustprogress.tumblr.com/post/184745596191/after-nats-passing-pepper-potts-creates-the)
> 
> Find me on tumblr @isjustprogress.


End file.
